


things you let go in order to live

by thermodynamicActivity (chlorinetrifluoride)



Series: ipsa scientia potestas est [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, All Redglare Does Is Snark, Alternia is Terrible, Ashen-Pale Vacillation, Blood and Injury, Break Up, F/M, Gen, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Size Difference, Unrequited Crush, as usual, except for her daydreaming, nothing actually happens tho, redglare's got an unrequited red crush on ghb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlorinetrifluoride/pseuds/thermodynamicActivity
Summary: Your name is Latula Pyrope, and you not yet known as Neophyte Redglare. You're a first year in the Imperial Academy of Law, which is hard, especially given the fact that trolls are tacitly allowed to duel each other for prestigious and influential placements on cases.So you ask a troll you'd trust with your life - one you probably shouldn't - to teach you how to fight better. You're adept with your cane, but you need more practice. And for his part, The Grand Highblood does. He really does, and the both of you know exactly why he's so determined to help you.But know what's worse than pretty much getting your ass handed to you in a four-on-one duel, though? The troll you've wanted to be your moirail (and maybe a little more) since you were seven, finally rejecting you. You think you'd sooner take those trolls in a duel again. That would hurt less.His name is Kurloz Makara, and he is only trying to keep you safe. Well, you're safe now, you suppose, as is he. Safe and miserable, the both of you.





	1. something's electric in your blood

**Author's Note:**

> right, so this is a prequel of sorts to [if i had a heart, i could love you. if i had a voice, i would sing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12816126/chapters/29258439) and you should probably read that before you read this.  
> this story takes place about nine sweeps before "if i had a heart i could love you"
> 
> you also might want to give [mente et artificio](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12844542) a read as well. i write my redglare as being quite similar to (beforus) latula, something i explore in that story.

**Neophyte Redglare**

* * *

 

One day, everyone will call you Neophyte Redglare. But not yet.

At the moment, you are just Latula Pyrope.

You’re nine and a half sweeps old and a newly accepted prospective neophyte at the Imperial Academy of Law. After you see what you're up against, you decide to cut your hair short. Most trolls who get this far don’t get accepted until the age of twelve, and even then, they’re cerulean and indigobloods. Teal isn't much lower, but it's still lower.

As befitting the fact that Kurloz summoned you here, probably to make sure you've been eating and sleeping, you’re sprawled out across his empty throne - the few subjugglators who come to see Kurloz think it’s the greatest joke ever - while he and Horuss do whatever disgusting caliginous nonsense you never, ever want to know about.

Kurloz comes back seeming less angry, although still tense, and covered in scratches. Damn, you didn't know Horuss had it in him for that kinda thing. Actually, you so did - he acts too repressed not to be a freak when buckets are involved - but still.

"Everything good?" you ask. You do an obligatory eyebrow wiggle. "How'd it go? Break any furniture?"

"It was sheer fuckin' miraculous," he says. "Just what the fuck he needed after some of his archeradictators went and like... acted like a buncha motherfucking morons in District 5. Reminds me of what some of my old brothers and sisters got up to, 'cept I usually _decapitated the motherfucking stupid ones_. All he's gonna end up doing is fuckin' reprimanding them. Fucking idiot."

You don’t really need to move much to give Kurloz room to sit on his throne, but you crawl into his lap once he does. You pap him, even though he’s the Grand Highblood and you’re just some half-blind kid, and you two aren’t really in any quadrants. Not officially.

Still, he lets you. He even starts to purr. He’ll probably freak when he realizes you’ve messed up the greasepaint he’s just re-applied after probably breaking the pailing platform during his kinky tryst with Horuss. You feel bad for the subjugglators that have to clean up after them as punishment detail.

You banish all mental images of Kurloz, Horuss, and their weird shit from your mind. Kurloz takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Your heart skips several beats, blood moving to parts of your anatomy you would rather it wouldn't.

“And what has my righteous tealblood sister been up an’ doin for the last few hours, ‘sides keeping my throne warm?” he asks.

You almost want to laugh when he calls you that. It’s so fucking ridiculous. And so him.

You actually decide to be level with him. Might as well tell someone what's going through your thinkpan. You've never had a moirail, you're between matesprits, and your kismesis is probably asleep, having been up studying for a week.

“Thinking of getting a haircut,” you reply. You gesture to your chin. “Maybe this length? A little longer?”

Long hair has been the style of highbloods forever. It’s a status symbol. Either you’re rich or strong enough that you can wear your hair long without worrying about another troll grabbing you by it to gain the upper hand in combat. Also, the Empress has long hair, which makes it even more fashionable.

Your hair is long, straight, and waist-length, probably because of Horuss, and the way his hair care regimen has rubbed off on you. 

But you have to be practical here.

You are a lowblood and a young, small one compared to your cohorts. You’re a hellion on a skateboard but you don’t have many advantages in hand-to-hand combat. You’ve got your proficiency with your cane, but your hair, cascading all the way down to your hips, is something of a liability.

You wait for Kurloz to object. You’ve combed out his hair before, the action causing him to fall asleep in your lap, as your pusher beat double time.

He says he’ll cut it on his deathbed and not a second before. Still, you know that’s a lie. Kurloz will go into the afterlife with stupidly long curly hair.

His response surprises you, though.

“Reckon that’s a fuckin’ decent idea,” he says. “Like I ain’t seen some a’ the beatdowns you up and been taking from these neophyte motherfuckers. Look what they do to they own, and then they get pissy at  _my_ forces for giving "cruel and unusual" punishment to fuckin' heretics? _Least I look out for mine._ ”

“You know my acceptance into the Academy this young was almost unprecedented. Trolls have a right to be angry at preferential treatment,” you say. “Especially since I should have probably been culled for visual impairment when I was a wiggler.” 

“You got the highest score of any troll taking the damn exam that sweep. Ain’t jack shit preferential about a motherfuckin’ standardized test score. Not your fault the rest of your class needs to get fuckin’ smarter. But you gotta get smarter, too. Keep it together in fights.”

“I know.”

“And if the older trolls try to gang up on you, just ping me. I’ll send the whole damn family if I gotta.”

“The whole damn family” being Kurloz-speak for “at least fifty subjugglators”. And that's not even the  _whole_ family.

That would be kind of embarrassing, however. You like to think you can handle your shit.

“Hey?” you ask, gesturing at Kurloz to stoop lower so you can actually look him in the eye. "I have a question."

Oh for the love of the Mother, he's so close, you can feel his cool breath on your face.

Your cheeks flush, as you imagine what would happen if you were impulsive enough to close the distance. Probably nothing.

He's like... two hundred and change sweeps old. You aren't even ten.

What if something did happen, though? 

You wonder how it would feel, what it would be like. If he'd take it slow, or if it'd be like one of those moderately shitty concupiscent bodice rippers you read in class when you're trying not to pay attention. Maybe both? Both is good.

(You wonder if it would even fit. You're around 155 cm and 50 kg. He has to be nearly 210 cm tall, and you can't even hazard a guess at how much he weighs. It's gotta be quite a bit, given how muscular he is.)

Latula, stop thinking with organs other than your thinkpan.

Kurloz snaps his fingers in front of your face to get your attention.

“Hey, fuckin Latula, you with me?” you ask. "Hadda motherfuckin question or something?"

You collect your thoughts and actually remember what you'd wanted to say in the first place.

“Will you teach me how to fight better?" you ask him. "You know, if you're not super busy.”

For his part, he agrees and gives you a grin just this side of deranged. You are not sure whether to be elated or terrified. Elated, probably.

Even with all his strength, Kurloz has rarely hurt you, and always apologized afterwards. You've never felt so pale for a troll, particularly this ruddier shade of pale.

Especially when the two of you sit in one of the communal nutritionblocks, talking strategy, Kurloz trying to modify his fighting style so it'll work for you, despite your height and weight differences.

You're learning from the best.

Okay, well, technically, Horuss is the best, but if you have to listen to him wax lyrical about musclebeasts while he drinks daintily from his indigo and white patterned tea-set, you’ll say something disrespectful and end up politely thrown out of his hive.

At least someone can run you through intermediate fighting techniques so you don't get your ass handed to you by upperclassmen. The first time you successfully knock Kurloz over, tripping him with your cane, you end up falling with him, and straddling him by accident. Even though the two of you hit the floor so hard that your knees are going to hurt for several days, once again, you are having less than pure thoughts. You jump to your feet - dear fuck that hurts - before you can even think of trying anything.

You don't want to ruin a potential moiraillegiance with your weird vacillations. Once he gets up, Kurloz checks you to make sure you're not injured, and gives you a smile and an approving nod.

"Not bad, Latula," he says. "You've gotten a lot better."

Even if he is a bit of a Faygo-swilling weirdo, you like him anyway. You think you two would do better as moirails anyway. 


	2. i know you're bleeding but you'll be okay

_**The Grand Highblood**_  

* * *

Latula’s so small that she has to incline her head practically straight up in order to look you in the eye. And when you cackle at her about it, she kicks you in the shin. Your guards raise their weapons, ready to defend you to the death, and you diplomatically tell all three of them to fuck off. Not that Latula couldn’t hold her own in a fight - you’ve seen what she can do with canes and swords now - but she wouldn’t actually hurt you.

Alshat Ziolda, your foremost advisor, keeps telling you that that this unspoken, unofficial, yet fairly obvious moirallegiance is one of the most moronic things you’ve ever done quadrant-wise. You’re going to outlive Latula, most certainly. And she is awfully young compared to you. Does she even know all the things you’ve done? Would she approve if she did?

“Now I ain’t know about the last thing, but even though she’s in her first sweep at the Academy, she probably knows some shit about the subjugglators, and a lot of the things they’ve done, including breaking a law or ten. She ain’t no dumb motherfucker. She’s fucking brilliant. You don’t meet trolls like that every century, even if homegirl needs to learn to get her sleep on. She ain’t never gets any shut-eye no more..”

Alshat nods and admits that Latula is quite intelligent, probably one of the most gifted trolls she’s ever met, and Alshat’s nearly 300 sweeps old, so she's met a whole lot of them.

Gifted and the sort of troll who could become quite wise, Alshat says of Latula. Still, she does not approve of your unspoken pale encounters with the younger troll.

“She’s one of maybe one of four trolls who can get you to stop acting like a fucking fool when you fly into your rages, and certainly the one who does it with the most alacrity and ease,” Alshat says. “Which means she’s either very pale for you, or very suicidal.”

You don’t understand why Alshat is using this fact against you.

“And this makes for a bad moirallegiance because?”

“You two care about each other too much. If and when something happens to one of you, you won’t be able to function. And she’s really young, Kurloz. Remember that. Be her moirail if you really want to, but don’t burden her with too much just yet. She would probably do anything for you. That's not something to be taken lightly.”

You guess Alshat's right, and that’s the best way to go. Keep yourself composed. Be pale for her, but don't overwhelm her.

So yeah, you let later Latula kick you in the shin. The way her short hair has been brushed to an almost burnished shine, and the fact that it’s been meticulously trimmed, informs you that Horuss is around somewhere in the Fortress to the Mirthful Messiahs, probably outside training some archeradictators at the moment. Only he could be so anal-retentive about making sure hair looks perfect. He’s anal-retentive about everything. It’s why you despise him so much. Also why you want to pail him through a wall.

Then, you notice something in Latula’s hair.

There’s a little teal dragon hair pin - its eyes ruby red - that’s been carefully applied to keep her bangs out of her eyes.

You’d meant to give it to Latula for her wriggling day, but you suppose Horuss and possibly Alshat decided to fuck with you.

The Mirthful Messiahs know that you fuck with them often enough. Your kismesis and your auspistice. They deserve it.

So fuck ‘em both. Horuss is not getting any caliginous action from you for the next perigee (if you can last that long without getting any), and Alshat - your poor, unfortunate auspistice - is gonna get an epic fucking lecture, probably at your favorite volume: deafening. 

Giving Latula her present early. Of all the jank ass fucked up shit. It was supposed to be _special._

“You were going to give this to me for my wriggling day, weren't you?” Latula asks, once she sees you, scrutinizing it with her limited sight.

You nod.

“It motherfucking reminded me of you,” you tell her. 

“It’s lovely,” she replies.

And when she smiles, when she smiles at you, you just want to do whatever you can to keep her smiling that way. You are so pale for her that it hurts.

She kisses you on the cheek, and then fixes your greasepaint where her dark lipstick has left a spot.

She follows you into your quarters - since she promised she’d stay over today ‘cause you haven’t seen her in forever.

Fucking legislacerator training. 

She eyes the walls somewhat disastefully, given the hemospectral rainbow of dried blood upon them. What can you say? The Mirthful Messiahs need their sacrifices and you need paint. Win-Win.

Latula sighs loudly, makes a faintly derisive comment, and sits on the edge of your recuperacoon, which is huge enough that three trolls your size could fit into it comfortably. 

You get undressed fast and get ready to climb into the sopor.

However, Latula undresses slowly. When she removes the top part of her uniform, she flinches and involuntarily cries out, muffling the sound with the back of her hand. 

You look down at her partially naked form.

She’s covered in scrapes and bruises.

“Latula, what the fuck?” you want to know. “How the motherfuck did you even…?” 

You trail off, lost for words. Fucking Mirthful Messiahs, this is all your fault. You’re the one who taught her how to fight even better than she could in the first place, and all but told her to go kick some ass.

Latula shrugs. “Can’t win every time you duel. Four of them ganged up on me, talking about how I shouldn't be in the Academy, and I should have been culled. I knocked one out, incapacitated the second, the third one managed to limp away, and the fourth one straight up took off running before I could even strike.” 

Well, motherfuck. You’re almost proud of her. Proud and afraid.

She did all of that with a cane?

Go, sister, go. You tell her this and she grins.

You start examining her injuries, making sure your hands are as gentle as possible.

“Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?” you ask her, while you work.

“I didn’t want to scare you. Or take you away from your duties. Or have you think I was weak. Besides, they were just mad that I got a placement on a decent case. Shit like this happens all the time," she insists. "You worry about me way too much, you know.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I got good motherfucking reason to worry about you. For the love of the Mirthful Messiahs, Latula, you gotta know when to fight, and also when to run! That ain’t weakness. That’s self-preservation. I know you can make some epic fucking time on that skateboard, so up an fuckin’ do that if you gotta. Specially with some fucking four-on-one shit. And don’t be afraid to ping me if trolls try to fuck with you. I’ll send some righteous brothers and sisters over to the Academy to help your ass out.”

She has that expression, the one that suggests that she’s about to disagree.

“Grand Highblood, I don’t think that will be necessary,” she says.

“Yeah, not motherfucking necessary my left shame globe,” you reply. “Now stay still so I can fix your dumb ass up.”

Most of the injuries appear to be fairly superficial. When you were an apprentice subjugglator, way back like five million motherfucking sweeps ago, you received extensive training in the intricacies of troll anatomy. It made you more efficient at incapacitating and culling heretics and enemies of the Empire. So you know your shit when it comes to injuries.

While they look fuck ugly, none of them look like they’ll kill her, or even keep her down for long. They’ll just hurt a lot as they heal. You tell her exactly this.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to know,” she says, rolling her eyes. You do your very best not to laugh.

Nevertheless, she thanks you for your assistance.

You stil want to send a few of your subjugglators down to the fucking Academy and have them beat the absolute shit out of the trolls who hurt Latula, just ‘cause she’s the youngest, she’s small for a tealblood, she's probably one of the smartest trolls in her cohort, and those fuckers couldn't even give her a fair fight.

In fact, maybe you should. You make a mental note to get the names of these trolls from her somehow. These cerulean and indigobloods are gonna get a firsthand lesson in what a proper duel looks like. Not a four-on-one fight with some pint sized ten sweeps old.

Latula must pick up on your anger, because she shooshes you into the closest thing to a state of calm that you’re capable of feeling right now.

“Kurloz, I can hold my own, you know. Maybe I ended up in a stupid duel but I’m not an idiot. Okay?”

You don’t respond. You don’t respond for a good five minutes.

"Kurloz? Do you trust me?” she finally asks. “Like really, and truly, trust my intellect? Do you trust that I can protect myself?”

You nod emphatically, without even having to think on it much.

“Course I do, although your motherfuckin' judgment could up an use a little work, and you need to fuckin’ learn to ask for help,” you reply, as you bandage her shoulder. “I’m fuckin' pale for you, and I know what you can do. You are fucking glorious and you'll only be moving up from here.”

Before you said that, she’d been biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out in pain as you tended her wounds. 

But once you say what you have to say, she breaks into the widest smile you’ve seen on her since she was several sweeps younger. A girl gone partially blind by the rising sun, desperately searching for her lusus. And when you finally located the dragon lusus - Pyralspite - that night, the girl looked positively elated. The way she does now.

“Pale for you too."

She reaches up, even as she winces, takes your face in her hands, and kisses your forehead. You hold her hand there for a moment.

You make the diamond gesture with your thumbs and forefingers.

And then that smile again. You smile with her in spite of yourself. You wish you were less pale for her. In fact, maybe you’ll just… take back what you said and tell her to fuck the fuck off for her own safety. Enemies of the Empire could probably threaten this girl to get to you, and to much of the Empire's forces, if your relationship keeps going the way it’s going. And then you’d be useless. Alshat’s right. If something happened to Latula, you don’t know what you’d do.

You’d still have Horuss, but Latula…? She’s the first troll you’ve gotten close enough to consider as a possible moirail in more a hundred sweeps.

Kurloz?” She taps her foot nervously. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fuckin’ bitchtits, don’t worry.”

She gazes at you skeptically.

“Whatever you say.”

Latula raises her hand like she’s about to ask a schoolfeeding question, but you know what she plans to do.

You should tell her not to, but you want her to do it just as much as she wants to.

You bend so she can reach the top of your head, and she gently musses your hair until you begin to purr.

“Better?” she asks.

Yes. It feels fucking wonderful. No. She’s just making what you gotta up and tell her harder to articulate.

Motherfuck, is this a test from the Messiahs themselves? Testing your faith? Your resolve? Because Kurloz Makara, you are failing miserably.

But still. The sensation, the way her fingers massaging your scalp leaches much of the agitation from you. You lean into Latula’s gesture, and continue purring, a deep rumble low in your throat. She laughs and starts to purr as well, her vocalizations higher pitched but no less exhilarated.

Once she’s done, you’ll go find an ice pack for her black eye, one you initially didn’t notice before, because it’d been mostly concealed by her glasses. 

However, for now, you’ll just chill with her until the both of you have begun to doze. You and she lie in your recuperacoon, the top of her head tucked under your chin, bubbles issuing from her nose as she breathes in and out, snoring softly, looking fully at peace. Pretty much the only time she does. 

She awakens in the early evening while you and Alshat talk shop. Mostly over your last argument with Horuss, and also about how to best break things to Latula.

Latula’s clearly washed the sopor off herself and is wearing one of your shirts as a nightgown when she walks into the communal nutritionblock. It's not the first time she's done it, but if you do what you know will be the best for all of you - but Latula in particular -  it'll be the last.

As soon as Latula arrives, Alshat excuses herself and leaves the two of you be, taking her open bottle of Faygo with her.

You don’t want to tell Latula what she needs to hear. You want to be her moirail more than anything. You don't want her to leave you. 

However,  _you want her to be safe._ You don't want anyone to harm her for being tied to you. So you have to let her go.

She's quick on the uptake, her voice even. Too even.

“I understand. I’m a liability,” she says matter-of-factly. “Should probably get properly dressed, then, and get out of here. I gotta get back to my hive and then to class.”

“I really am motherfucking sorry, Latula. I just…” Your tone gathers some vehemence. “I don’t want any motherfuckers to try to use you to get to me. If something happened to you because–”

“I get it.” She’s not crying, but she won’t look you in the eye. “It’s okay if you say no, but could I just make one request before I leave?”

She nearly reaches out to touch you before remembering that she shouldn’t. You take her small hand, and that’s when she starts to cry silently, and you’re not far behind. 

“Could we…” she starts out. “We probably shouldn’t be moirails, but could we at least stay friends? You’re one of my favorite assholes, you know.”

You bark out a laugh at that, then think for a while.

You don’t think you can let her go entirely. You still want to be able to check up on her every so often. And you meant what you said about her becoming glorious. You want to see it happen. You adore her. You want nothing but good things for her.

“Yes, my miracle of a tealblooded sist–….” You stop yourself before you can finish that statement. “I mean, Latula. Friends. We can be motherfucking friends, for sure.”

“Okay.”

Latula nods.

You watch her leave, on her skateboard as usual, gaze until she's so far away that you can't see her anymore.

After she's gone, you make and eat most of a sopor slime pie, getting yourself good and fucked up. You're completely incoherent, but Alshat and Horuss come to comfort you anyway. At least this time you don’t venture out of your quarters and act panrotted in front of your subordinates.

“It would not have ended well, Highblood,” Horuss says, of your almost moiraillegiance, offering you a glass of water that you barely manage not to drop.made the right decision,” Alshat says. “She’ll be safer this way. And if she needs help, she can still ping you.”

You think of Latula snoring in your recuperacoon next to you, her head on your chest, her hair floating around her face. And then the way she papped you when you woke up from a daymare and startled her awake. Her soothing nonsense phrases that enabled you to fall asleep again.

You made the right decision, you tell yourself. Latula will be safe. She'll find herself a matesprit, a moirail, a kismesis, an auspistice, and she'll complain about studying but do the work anyway. She'll become a legendary legislacerator. She is destined for greatness,

You made the right decision, Kurloz.

Thing about making the right decision, though? A lot of the time, it feels awful initially.

You lie in your recuperacoon and pretend that you don't feel strangely empty.

 


End file.
